When a Detective Calls
by KawaiiDino
Summary: Lestrade has snapped after one of Sherlock's latest adventures. Unfortunately for one Valerie Becker, everyone's favourite DI dials her number instead of the consulting detective's. T for some minor swearing.


Note: Just a silly little one shot about Sherlock going one step too far, and a poor woman being caught in the consequences. I own not the characters you recognise.

Valerie Becker was fast asleep on this perfectly normal, blissfully quiet, desperately needed day of rest. Her head was filled with the softest of thoughts, the lightest of emotions; she was so content in her dream world, made of cotton candy and wisps of her favourite perfumes, that when a man's voice broke through she thought he was all a part of it. Alas, he was not. Rather, he was the disruption - a cold, creeping feeling that snuck up on her dream.

"HOW DARE YOU, SHERLOCK HOLMES! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW IDIOTIC YOU CAN BE AT TIMES!"

"Wha-?" Valerie started, not quite sure if she her dream was taking a nasty turn towards nightmare.

"Zip it! I want to hear NOTHING from you!" the man growled, a thud audible over his shouting.

Valerie was very confused. She'd opened her eyes as soon as the man's voice reached skull-crunching volume, and was now fully aware of the rain hitting the windows and the thunder rolling in the distance. It was a far cry from her warm wonderland.

"I thought I had seen everything you could possibly pull out of your silly little hat! That you had no more diabolical experiments up your sleeves! Clearly, _CLEARLY_, I have been sorely mistaken! What were you thinking! How could you send Anderson out of the building, knowing full well there was a bloody sniper trained on the front door, _and that there were EXPLOSIVES_! Oh and don't even try to deduce yourself out of this one! I _won't_ have it!" the man took a few deep breaths, sucking the air in and out, through his teeth. He sounded like a raging bull ready to charge. Valerie was absolutely terrified.

"I-I'm sor-"

"Sorry? YOU'RE SORRY?! SORRY ISN'T GOING TO STOP MOLLY FROM NEEDING THERAPY, YOU BLOODY GREAT GIT! HOW DARE YOU USE POOR MOLLY TO LURE BALDUCCI FROM HIS FLAT?!" and so he went on, and on, in circles, constantly mentioning a Molly and her need of therapy. Valerie attempted several more interjections, each cut short by another accusation.

"And as if landing Molly in counselling and Anderson in ICU wasn't bad enough, you feel it's okay to get your best friend shot! Sherlock, what could you possibly have had running through your mind? You practically used him as a human shield!" Valerie shuddered as an unwelcome picture popped into her mind, "You just don't get that a lot of what you do to solve a case is rather closer to a 'total fuck up' than just a simple 'not good' confirmation from John."

The man had finally run himself down. He gave a tired sigh. The phone rustled a bit, and Valerie was still sleepy enough to let her mind drift to imagine this man rubbing his eyes and running his hands through his hair.

"Look, I can't keep covering for you if you are going to keep pulling these kinds of stunts. Please, _please_, just for heaven's sake, take that ridiculously clever brain of yours and put it to good use. Think about the casualties you are willing to acquire before you actually get around to it. At least alert the EMTs, or the A&E nearest to you!" another haggard sigh, another rustle, and then the line was quiet.

What to do? Tell the man he had basically just raved at a half-asleep accountant, mistaking her for someone called 'Sherlock Holmes', and practically made her want to run and hide and never come out with the details of a completely deranged series of events?

"Sherlock?"

"Uhm, I hate to be _that_ person, but" a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, "Who exactly _is_ Sherlock, and why have you not alerted his behaviour to the authorities?" Valerie squeaked.

"Uhm, I hate to be _that_ person, but" _Bugger._

One Greg Lestrade was hard-pressed to stop himself from throwing the telephone receiver clear across the room, or even better, from throwing it out of his office window. In his haste to tear a certain consulting detective a nice new one, he had made huge mistake! Colossal! Gigantic! Gargantuan! Was there a God?

"Sir?" the sedated voice on the other end murmured.

"Ahem, who is this?" Lestrade's mind was working over time. How was he meant to fix this? What was the first step in this situation? Apart from letting the first coherent sentence out of one's mouth not sound like it was coming from a puberty-stricken fourteen-year-old.

"Valerie Becker, and yourself?" she murmured drowsily.

Lestrade scrunched his face as tightly as possible, rubbing vigorously at his temples. _Okay, deep breaths. What would Sherlock do-?_ He cut himself off before he saw red once more.

"Greg Lestrade." Oh hell, where had the Detective-Inspector gone? Could he not get one thing right today?

The woman, Valerie, started speaking again before he could correct himself, "Okay, Greg. Nice to meet you. Could you please tell me why you are shouting at me about this Sherlock person nearly killing his best friend at five," a pause and shuffle, "at five-forty-two in the morning?" she asked.

"I, uh, I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? You can't just go around raving like a lunatic about people being shot at and then needing therapy and being used as human shields! It's just not on! And on my first day off in absolutely ages!"

"Look, it wasn't meant for you, obviously, and I apologise for the early wake up call. If I could take all of this back I would, believe me." He tried for a breathy laugh, but got nothing but tense silence in return.

Was he trying to be cute with her? She had half a mind to tell him to piss off, to send some flowers around just to make her feel better about the weather and being woken up far too early. But it was only half her mind, after all, and he did sound rather like he was wishing the ground could swallow him whole.

"Send me flowers and I'll forget any of this ever happened." It slipped out before she could so much as think the words to herself. Eyes wide, she shot up in bed, smacking a hand to her forehead. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

"Hah, normally I only send flowers when I'm trying to grovel without getting down on my knees. " he chuckled. Which was a good thing. Right?

"Well, you can just send me the flowers, daisies, white, and that will be it." The rain increased its efforts to break through the windows. Valerie glanced at her curtains, seeing a flash, and then darkness again. Maybe she could get back to sleep once this call was over. But the thunder answered her thoughts with a roar that bounced all over her room.

"Is it raining where you are?" her question was asked so quietly even she barely heard it.

"Uh, yeah, it is." He sounded somewhat thrown by her odd question.

"It's not the best start to the day, is it?"

"No, no it isn't." he agreed with a sigh.

"I'll text my address to you, Greg Lestrade. And don't you dare come yourself. I just want the flowers, nothing more, nothing less." She tried to put her _'Where are the finalised financial statements, Keith?'_ voice on, but could only manage to keep her voice steady enough to not sound like a blabbering school girl.

"Alright, alright. I'll get them…later today then." Greg Lestrade grumbled.

"Thank you, goodbye."

"Goodbye…"

Sally Donovan walked into DI Lestrade's office, 8 AM right on the dot, to find her boss fast asleep at his desk. There was blood splatter on his wrinkled white shirt, the same one he'd worn the day before, and for the briefest moment she worried the blood was his own. But then she remembered where she had just come from, Anderson's bedside, and her worry evaporated.

"Sir?" she asked, watching him carefully.

"Hmphh?"

"You sent me a message asking for a bunch of white daisies to be picked up on my way in." she gestured at the sleepy, blinky-eyed officer with the plain bouquet.

"Oh yes. Thanks. Just…just put them down wherever. I'll sort them out in a bit." he shuffled some papers around on his desk to try and keep awake, stifling a yawn.

"He won't like them." Sally said as she was turning to go.

"He?" Lestrade furrowed his brow at her.

"Anderson. He's not a flower type of guy." A small smile quirked at the corner of her mouth.

"Yes, well, they're uhm, they're not for him. Thankfully." Sally's smile faltered ever so slightly.

"Oh, well then I hope the woman they're for will like them." she walked out, only catching the end of a startled exclamation. The Freak wasn't the only one with the power of deduction.

The second time Valerie Becker was torn from her sweet slumber, it was because of an incessant buzzing noise coming from her living room. Without opening her eyes, she dragged herself, and her covers, to the source of the noise. Pressing the intercom button she grumbled a 'yes?'

"Flowers, for Valerie Becker." It was the same voice as before. But from where exactly was before? Sleep had sunk its claws into her senses and it took her a few seconds to recall the conversation she had had before 6 AM.

"You!"

"Yes, me. I know you said you just wanted the flowers delivered, not by me, but I'm, I actually live just around the corner so I'm dropping them off instead of having to pay some idiot on a bike in tiny shorts to do it for me." Half of what he was saying was being swept away by the rain that was still violently falling in thick sheets.

"Look, can you at least come and open your door so I can get out of the rain for a few moments?" he asked, nay_ pleaded_.

"How do I know I can trust you not to burst in and do something to me? After all you seem to keep some pretty sketchy company." Flashes of his rant ran rampant in her head. John ,the human shield. Anderson in ICU. Molly in need of a therapist. A speaker rubbing his eyes and running his hand through his hair. She shuddered at it all.

"I'm a DI with the Scotland Yard. I'll gladly show you my ID, once I am out of this rain."

"Fine."

Lestrade let out a deeply held breath, as there was a commotion with the front door lock. The door swung open and he was allowed into a toasty foyer. And confronted by a quilt-covered woman looking up at him with bleary eyes.

Thrusting the flowers into her hands he started to speak, "Here. For you. As promised. Again, I am very sorry for shouting at you this morning. At a very ungodly hour. See, here's my badge," he flashed it before sliding it back into his pocket.

"Why have you not locked this Sherlock fellow up yet?"

"Well, it's not a straight-forward situation as you seem to think it is. We have our reasons."

"But he was using someone as a human shield! First of all, what on earth was he doing to warrant a shield, human or no, and secondly, what on Earth were you doing with him? You seem like a sensible man!" her quilt was slipping farther and farther out of her grasp, soon it was barely hanging around her waist. Lestrade could feel his mouth go dry when it slipped to her hips. Valerie was unaware of her quilt situation. She was too busy poking the DI in the chest, petals falling like snow around them.

"I was unusually upset this morning. I hadn't slept much in the past five days and on top of that have not eaten in the last 24 hours, apart from a donut one of the Sergeants managed to hand me in between paper work and chasing down a very wanted, and very dangerous drug lord. Yes, Sherlock isn't always morally inclined when it comes to solving a problem, but he never lets anyone close to him get hurt too badly. So just lay off him, and the Yard, and enjoy our damn flowers! And pull up your quilt! I only came to give you flowers, not to be confronted _yet again_ by a, quite frankly _Valerie_, scantily clad woman!" Lestrade could feel his stomach grumble, could feel the tell-tale dizziness reverberating in his skull. He was hungry, tired, cold, wet, and in desperate need of a good cup of tea and his bed.

To his surprise, Valerie started giggling at his outburst. Luckily she pulled the quilt up to under her arms before she lost it completely.

"I'm sorry" she tried, and failed, to put an end to her laughter, "Really." She was smiling now, feeling lighter than she did five minutes before. Lestrade merely regarded her with a raised eyebrow before shaking his head tiredly, eyes burning from lack of sleep.

"If m'lady is happy with her flowers, I think I'll be taking my leave now. I have a bed that's calling and a nice waterfall to get through before I can reach it. Good day." Lestrade was moving to her front steps before he had even finished his goodbye. A hand on his arm stopped him from getting too far, though. It was Valerie, looking apologetic.

"Look, I understand how tired you are, believe me, I am only slightly less tired than you are. But would you like to stay for coffee? Breakfast? A quick kip on the couch before you find yourself face down in an alleyway, in this horrendously typical downpour?" she was far too awake for his liking, but her offers were all very tempting.

"Why?" he never did quite let his walls to calm down.

"Because," she flushed a little, " because I feel like I've overreacted, regardless of your…colleagues methods. And besides, you really do look like you're about to keel over, not to mention you'll probably get quite ill if you walked any further in these conditions. I don't bite, just trying to make up for a few misunderstandings." She smiled hopefully.

"Fine, but make it tea, I have no need for caffeine right now. Then I'm off. Whether you like it or not." And with that Lestrade found himself eating a bacon and egg sandwich on the couch of the woman he had nearly traumatised, with the loveliest cuppa he had ever had the pleasure of drinking in his hand. Oh, and he did take her up on the offer of a nap. It wasn't until much, much, much later, after he had finally started looking human again and noticed the blood on his shirt, that he remembered he wanted to murder Sherlock bloody Holmes.


End file.
